


Russian Toast

by glitterburg



Series: We Write Victuuri prompts [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, POV Katsuki Yuuri, Post-Canon, cooking gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 23:30:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13868283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterburg/pseuds/glitterburg
Summary: There are the people who are naturally easy wakers. Then there's Katsuki Yuuri...





	Russian Toast

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [@wewritevictuuri](https://wewritevictuuri.tumblr.com)'s weekly prompt, "I only set it on fire a little bit. In my defence, I didn’t think it would be that flammable."
> 
> I can't thank [sarabelez](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sarabelez/pseuds/sarabelez) enough for beta-ing this for me <3

_Ow…_

_Ow ow ow..._

Yuuri digs his head under the pillow as he pulls the heavy blanket over his head but nothing can block out the persisting and shrill noise; it penetrates his ears, spreads in his head, and splits it in half. Or at least it feels that way.

 _What’s going on…?_ _Why is it so loud…?!_

Groaning loudly, he turns on his other side and burrows deeper under the pillow. He grabs Viktor’s pillow too, but it’s still not enough to shut off the migraine-inducing nightmare of a sound.

It must be the alarm he set, it occurs to him now that he’s more awake. He blindly gropes for his phone, which is supposed to be somewhere around–ah, here it is.

Yuuri squirms out from under the pillow pile and squints at the bright screen. No, it’s not his alarm... and yeah, that makes sense; the noise is coming from outside the bedroom.

_Where is Viktor? Why isn’t he turning it off?_

He scrambles out of bed and forces himself to stand. He reaches for his glasses and hastily puts them on as he staggers to the door, with his hands pressing flat against his ears.

When he opens the door, the cloud of black smoke is the last thing he expects to see. His sleep-addled brain still can’t register what’s going on, but he faintly recognizes the danger it means.

“Fuck!” he swears. He dashes to where the smoke is thickest–the kitchen.

“Don't worry, love! I'm handling this.” Viktor shouts from somewhere in front of him. Yuuri's able to make out his silhouette a couple of meters away, standing high above him on the kitchen counter. “It isn't as bad as it looks!”

The black smoke gushing in the apartment suggests otherwise; Viktor tends to underestimate danger sometimes. He doesn’t really believe him, but he can’t see the source of the fire either, so Viktor must have put it out already.

“How do I turn off the noise??” Yuuri asks, and he’s aware that his voice is slightly more annoyed than acceptable in emergencies like this.

“I’m trying right now!” Viktor answers, with the slightest hint of annoyance of someone who's never tested his smoke alarm like he’s supposed to thus has no idea what he's doing.

One of them are enough to deal with the alarm, so Yuuri heads for the windows in the kitchen to let fresh air in the smoke out. He then proceeds to do the same in the rest of the apartment. Everything is blissfully silent by the time he's done in the living room. When he rounds back to the kitchen, most of the smoke has cleared.

Yuuri looks at Viktor. His face is sweaty, his hair is tousled, and the front of his usually pristine white shirt is now a dark shade of grey. It's wet too. It matches the grey, sooty tint on his face. Viktor is still standing on top of the counter, the easiest place to reach the alarm on the ceiling, and he’s staring down at Yuuri with his neck bent because he’s too tall to stand straight.

Yuuri assesses the stove next where a couple of pans line up. One of them is still omitting a thin trail of smoke and a horrible smell. Then there’s the hastily abandoned fire-extinguisher and the kitchen towels on the floor.

“I only set it on fire a bit,” Viktor says.

“A bit,” Yuuri echoes, moving closer to inspect the frying pan further.

Whatever Viktor meant to cook remains a mystery, because it has morphed into a black, sticky blob.

“In my defense,” Viktor adds, “I didn't think it would be that flammable."

Yuuri lifts his head and stares at Viktor again in disbelief.

“What is _it_?” he ends up asking, and all the answer he gets is Viktor clearing his throat. Oh god. This is why he avoids communication altogether until after he gets his first caffeine kick and thirty minutes of blissful silence.

Yuuri sighs. He turns on Viktor’s expensive coffee machine and pops in a pod, then another. He isn’t going to make only one cup of coffee when Viktor looks exactly like he needs his fancy homemade latte, with the vanilla syrup they usually reserve for special occasions.

Viktor climbs off the counter and accepts the mug Yuuri offers. The fire is out and the mess on the stove can wait. They don’t need to clean it up right away.

Yuuri shivers before he realizes he's cold. Viktor's apartment quickly becomes chilly with the windows open in the middle of winter. He draws his shoulders closer to his body, then Viktor draws Yuuri close by looping his arm around him.

“It’s just butter,” he says when Yuuri's mug is empty, taking it as a sign that Yuuri’s now more like himself and less like a dragon that can put the kitchen back up in flames.

Makkachin appears by their side, eyeing the pair cautiously, the way she usually does when she’s done something naughty and she knows it. Her fur is wet in patches all over her body, and when Yuuri remembers Viktor’s wet shirt, he gets an idea of what could’ve happened.

Viktor knows how to cook after all, and he's good at it too, so it's highly likely the disaster happened because he was distracted by someone. Usually, that someone is Yuuri, but sometimes it’s Makka.

“What’s with the guilty face?” he addresses the poodle as she inches closer. “Got a paw in all this mess?”

Makkachin stops in front of them and sits, her tail sweeping tentatively from one side to the other, her guilt quickly overrun by the excitement of receiving attention, especially from Yuuri whom she hasn't seen since last night.

Viktor looks at his dog too. “I don’t know why I didn’t believe you when you said Makka knew how to open the tap in the bathtub.”

 “Ah,” is all Yuuri answers.

He once caught the poodle sneaking into the bathroom, climbing into the tub, and pawing the tap until the water ran. She’d lap the water up as it fell on her tongue and splatter it everywhere in the process. It's her new thing, probably learned from none other than Yuuri himself who has the bad habit of drinking directly from the kitchen tap rather than bothering to pour water into a glass.

“Well.” Yuuri puts down the empty mug, turns to face his husband, and holds onto his shoulders. Viktor’s arms circle around his waist and pulls Yuuri closer automatically. “I love you anyway.”

“You better,” Viktor says, pressing his lips against Yuuri’s to kiss him good morning, and finally lights up with that lovely heart-shaped smile. “Because I found the perfect recipe for French toast.”

“Mmm,” Yuuri half moans, half sighs, and not solely because the idea of French toast is tempting. Viktor's blue eyes shine even brighter in contrast with the smoke and ash smudged on his face. This Russian toast under his palms right now is pretty delicious too. Today, Yuuri thinks, he’d rather have the latter for breakfast.


End file.
